I remember that day like it had just passed, but it was close to six million years ago.  It started off as a simple Autobot raid on one of our supply depots, but it quickly escalated into a full out viscious slaughter.  The Autobots pushed us back into a civilian sector before we could drive them back again, but during the push they hit us with everything they had, indiscriminate of wether they hit us or the innocents around us.  Those civilians lived in Decepticon held territory, so they were fair game to the Autobots.  Fucking savages.

Deadelas Ridge. 34 degrees north longitude, 15 degrees east latitude. Dusk.

        "Sergeant Cirrus was right....."
        I sighed, hefting my flux rifle higher. "About what?"
        "About being in a world of shit Screamer."
        I hated it when he called me that.  Fuck, I hated it when anyone called me that.  I chose, rather hesitantly, not to get pissed at him.  He was hanging on by a thread as is.  "Don't sweat it trooper, the action's miles ahead of us," I pulled my leg up, the river was thick here.  I sighed. "They needed someone to bring up the rear."
        I ran a trio of fingers over my brow, a trickle of blood was dripping on me from an open window high above.  A more macabre scene I had never witnessed.  This place... this city, this civilian sector had been alive and flourishing days before.  Now the streets literally crawled with bodies, the blood spilt from a million dead washing past me, dancing around my hips.  I slung my rifle over my wing, grasping the shoulder of a body kneeling in the flow, his chest barely above the rising and falling waves of crimson.  I turned him around as his shoulder came off in my hand, the arm dripping tendons and servos as it fell, splashing into the river and disappearing from sight.  His optics were shattered, his mouth hung open loosely.
        I could hear a faint wretching behind me.  I turned about.  My wingman shivered slightly, he knew I was watching him.  He'd best not snap on me.  "Watch our six, and don't trip on anything this time." I told him.
        "Boss, is... is anything alive around here?"
        I kept from stammering as the face down body of a young child brushed past my thigh.  "I doubt it.  Whatever didn't die in the initial furball died when the 'Bots saturated this place with inverse gravity bombs."
        "I hear they don't take prisoners," He walked up alongside me, turning to regard me. "I hear what they do to civilians that don't give in."
        "Well that's why we're here, isn't it?  The 'Bots might not be born fighters, but they're born murderers."
        "That's pretty fucking obvious."
        I held a hand to him, fixing him with a steely gaze as I pressed a finger to my lips.  I looked around, scanning the horizon as the sun peeked through the blasted out window of a shattered building.  It was
dusk, it would soon be too dark to discern details without enhanced gear.  There it was again, a low moan.  I snapped right to look at a burned and blackened high rise, the prevailing wind howling low through the dismembered shell.  No, that wasn't it.  I motioned with my hand, pointing towards a corner.  "Over there."
        I thumbed my rifle's fire selector to 'Rock and Roll', bracing the stock against my shoulder.  I cocked the charging handle slowly, as silently as I could.  The gentle sloshing around my hips as the flow of blood dripped past was the only sound to compliment the tormented wind. I nodded to my wingman, then cut a glance out and then around the building's corner.  He took my lead, advancing in a wider arc to cover me as I approached the corner edge on.
        My wingman reached the point where he could acquire visual confirmation on the sound's source.  His optics widened, but.... his finger slipped over the trigger guard.  I furrowed my brow, looking to him with a confused look on my face.  I mouthed a question to him. "What?"  He simply pointed a shaky finger past me.  I sighed, rolling my eyes as I advanced.  I almost squeezed off a round as I saw.
        "Son of a bitch."
        He heard me.  The form, slumped against a burnt and broken enbankment, was my batallion commander, field marshall Antares.  I was about to speak to him, but I hesitated, only to be met by the shifting red optics that turned to appraise me.  I saw them blink.
        "Commander, what happened here?" My wingman spouted as he advanced.
        I held a hand up to him, then dealt him a steel gaze.  My finger was pointed directly at him, my tone even and without emotion. "Unsling that rifle soldier, and take guard."
        "Yes sir."
        I moved, slowly towards the wall, my hand brushing against it to give me leverage.  I advanced along it until my boot almost kicked against his side, then I dropped to my knees.  I could not hide it for the life of me, my lower lip was quivering.  I reached out with an unsteady hand to take his forearm, clasping my hand with his.  I was about to speak, when he started the conversation for me.
        "I.... I thought you were with Delta company...... they... they were lost," He pointed up and to the South. "over that ridge.  I never expected to see my lad Starscream again."  The faintest of smiles graced
his lips, belying the pain that must have coursed through his torn body.
        I tried to smile, but it only came out as a sheepish grin.  "Where is the 181st Top?  Where are the Starkiller's?"  My uncle was second lieutenant in the Starkiller's.  My only dear uncle!
        His optics dimmed, then glowed with an unusual brightness.  His laser core must be on the brink, he hadn't another cycle to live.  He smiled, that old smile he always greeted me with when I'd done something to make him proud.  Then, his smile faltered, and left entirely.  As if, as if he were in a dream state, from which he had suddenly woken from.  He looked about.  "The 181st?  Starscream," his tone was that of someone explaining the most obvious of things. "look around you."
        I turned, my hand brushing over the embankment as I braced my shoulder against it.  He was right.  The 181st was here.  I just.... I just hadn't been able to recognize them.  They were here allright.  And they covered the walls.
        "Top... Top!"  My tone was almost pleading, I tried not to sound as if I were about to cry, but everything was coming at me at once.  "Where is my uncle?" I grasped his hand tightly. "Where is he?"

        "I don't know Starscream.  We were seperated four kilometres back. We..." His eyes lit, then he grasped my shoulder.... something had hit him. "Get out of here!"
        I looked at him, not comprehending his swift change in tone.
        "Starscream!" My wingman shouted.
        I looked down, at a black shape shrouded in the mist of the blood flow. It was attached to a power conduit on Antares' hip.  "They rigged our wounded!"  My wingman stumbled, tripping in the crimson tides, then broke off in a dead run.  I turned, my feet slipping as they struggled to find purchase at the pools bottom.  I could feel an immense heat at my heels, then a blinding flash.  I was thrown, my body hurling through the air, and then everything went black.
        They say your life flashes before you as you're about to die.
        Good thing all I saw was the blood washing past my eyes.  I blinked, then lunged for the surface, breaking through... heaving a deep gasp for air.
--15% damage to outer armor--
        "Shut up."
--24% damage to primary propulsion system--
--11% damage to secondary propulsion system--
        "I said shut up."
--Targeting systems offline--
        "What part of 'shut up' did you not understand?"
--computer voice control offline--
        "Oh."
        I placed my hands to either side of me, leaning forward slightly. There was a faint smell of burnt wiring, coupled with the charcoal scent of crisped and blackened armor.  I was about to look for the source when my starboard wingtip gave a shallow moan and splashed down next to me, taking with it a hard bundle of myomer cable.  Looked like I wouldn't be doing much flying.  I expected my wingman to have been killed, but.... he was in front of me, his back against a wall.  This day just was not turning out like I had wanted it to.
        I snarled under my breath.  "Perhaps if our leader was as 'great' as he claims to be, we wouldn't be ass deep in corpses." I hauled myself to a standing position, trying in vain to wipe some of the viscous fluids from my face.  I spat, coughing up a slight amount of fluid.  I then braced my hands against my knees, leaning forward and retching heavily. I must be bleeding internally somewhere.
        "What were you saying about Megatron?"  My wingman's hand was on my shoulder, and I couldn't believe he was making a vain attempt at conversation, let alone trying to show a little concern.  It was beyond him, he cared about his own hide 90 percent of the time.  I would not discuss whose hides he cared about the other 10 percent of the time.
        I brushed his hand off as a cold sneer curled my lip.  "I said we wouldn't be here if that jerk-off Megatron cared more about his own troops than he did about his own glory!"

        My wingman actually looked shocked.  "Screamer," he spoke almost whisperingly quiet. "I seem to recall you telling me about how he could do no wrong, about how he was the 'perfect leader'."
        I returned his look with an equally shocked one.  "Look around you! Would a perfect leader allow this to happen?" I waved a hand dismissively to him, as if the discussion warranted no continuation.
But I chose to drive my point home.  "I saw him for something he wasn't...... I was blinded by what I thought he was!  I was blinded by my own fantasy of wanting a leader who could free our people.  Now he just appears to be another glory seeker.  I believe in our cause, I believe in myself..... I just cannot say wether I believe in Megatron."
        He tried to justify all this to me, but his words fell upon deaf ears. "It wasn't his fault." He said.  "It's as much the fault of the Autobots." He continued, but I cut him off.
        "Perhaps *you* think we can win this war with lackluster command, but I do not!" I pressed a finger into his chest, pushing him back slightly. "If this fucking skirmish is any indication of his prowess, then perhaps we need some new blood! Perhaps we need someone who will lead us to victory, not to slaughter!"
        My wingman shook his head, holding it in both hands.  "But he's our leader."
        I turned and started off in the direction we were ordered to take. "The Decepticon cause is more important, bigger than any one man.  I need not be loyal to some maniac who happens to be in 'command' to be loyal to my kind." I added. "You're taking point."
        I couldn't have cared less if he followed me or not, he was blind to the truth.  He'd probably follow any leader who clubbed his way to the top. He cared about being a war hero so he could bag any piece of ass he wanted.  I didn't care about that.  Not to say I wasn't interested, but my personal life took a backseat to my duty as a soldier.  The only thing that mattered to me was the Decepticons.  MY uncle would know what to do, if he were alive.
        "Screamer, why were you so concerned about the 181st back there?"
        I was too busy checking my sidearm, a solid projectile automatic pistol, to answer him directly.  I dropped the clip, checked the chamber to see if anything had become lodged in it, then slapped the clip back home.  I pulled the hammer back, and slipped it back into its holster. "Did I ever tell you you ask too many fucking questions?"
        "I've got a problem with being curious, or so I've been told." He cracked a slight smile.
        "I have family in the 181st, as 'if' it's any concern of yours." I sighed slowly, then continued on. "I actually care about my own."
        "I've always been rather fond of your sister Screamer." He added with a dry chuckle.  The first thing he saw after that was the crimson stare I regarded him with.  The second thing he saw was my fist sailing into the bridge of his nose.  He fell backwards with a heavy splash, bringing both hands to clutch his face.
        My next words to him were the kindest I could think of at the moment. "On your feet, on your fucking feet!  You had best un-fuck yourself most rickety tick or I will unscrew your head and shit down your neck!"  I didn't give him the chance, dug my hands into his shoulders as he screamed in pain.  His feet dangled beneath him as I hefted him high. "Now you listen to me, and you listen good.  I catch you even looking at her crooked, and I'll wipe the deck with your worthless hide!  You better be reading me clearly, for your own sake."  I dropped him from my grip, wiping my hands against one another.  I wanted to hit myself for what I'd just done.  Here I was worrying about him folding from the pressure, and I was on the verge of snapping.
        Or had I already snapped?
        ~Let these thoughts go Starscream.  They can only cloud your judgement. This is a war after all, and in case you hadn't noticed, you're lucky to be alive.  Remember Starscream, indecision can kill quicker than a plasma blast.  Besides, you can do this on your own.~
        There was a soft hum coming from behind me, that gradually, steadily grew into a throaty roar that threatened to shake the buildings from their foundations.  Snapping overhead at hypersonic speeds, a flight of heavily armed tetrajets split the air in front of them and left it to smash itself to pieces in their wake.  The lead ordered his squadron to split and cover the eastern and western flanks, the two columns of his inverted V formation breaking to port and starboard, 15 jets in either detachment.
        I looked back, wondering why my wingman wasn't keeping pace.  But I turned in a full arc, and the only thing marking where he *had* been was a shimmering wave in the tides.  My fists clenched tightly, but I was left at a loss as to what to do next.  There was no way he could have run off in any direction without having left a trail of waves in the blood.  He hadn't flown off, of that I was sure.  That would have left a greater distuption in the tides, from his engine's ignition.  That only left.......
        Down.
I started looking down, and all around me.  I could see dark shapes around me, but they didn't move.  Bubbles gently bobbed to the surface in a dozen locations.
        I started moving towards the edge of a reinforced housing settlement, pushing my back hard against it.  That eliminated one angle I could be attacked from.  What I saw past the edge of the building filled me with morbid joy.  It was a Decepticon, his head shattered into a hundred fragments.  And lest you think I could derive joy from the death of one of my own, what I saw in his limp hand was a treat for anyone's eyes.  A Ryndla EE-55 multi-barelled 10 Gigawatt repeating plasma rifle.  This was the kind of assault cannon used for taking down tank columns, and.... the power pack was blinking green!  I scooped it up in my arms, attaching the shoulder brace to me, allowing the magnetic couplers to clamp it tight.  I then reached around, securing the hip mount, so that it could swing free in a wide arc.  I grasped the handle near the barrel of this gargantuan flame spitter, and pulled the barrel up, making sure that vertical as well as horizontal stability was active.  Despite its weight, it held a steady line.  A quick check of the readout showed it had 1500 rounds at full power left, or 3000 at half power.  It felt good on me, as if I should have been born with it.  My thumb flicked over the hat on the joystick, letting the barrels spin to full revolution without firing any rounds.  I finished the field check by pulling the charging handle back and peering sidelong into the firing chamber.
        I pointed the barrel along my intended path, and crept forward.
        "Groovy."
        If luck were a lady she must have been the cruelest mistress this world had ever seen.  Fortunately I had kept my back to the wall, as when I rounded the next corner, what should greet me but a very pissed off looking guardian robot.
        "This just keeps getting better.  Hope this fucking thing doesn't jam."
        He must have had the same assignment as I did..... bringing up the rear.  Unfortunately the Autobots seemed to have more resources to spare.  Perhaps he heard the high pitched whine of the barrels spinning, or perhaps it was feeling 20 rounds a second splattering off his skull. Either way, I got his attention.  I held my ground, pouring round after round into his hide.
        "Get some, get some..... GET SOME!  You like that?  Huh, you like that motherfucker?  Well here's some more!"
        His massive gun arm spun in my direction, just as the last few rounds in the power pack bounced off his wingblade.  I clapped the magnetic coupler and the gun was free from my body in a second.  I threw the gun in the direction his arm was pointed, and he fired off a potshot at the spent weapon.  My heel hit the street running, my feet biting into the water and pushing me forward as I ran towards him at a blistering clip. He was turning to line up another shot as I lept into the air, pushing my feet off his shoulder as I flipped behind him.  My claws extended, and dug into the back of his head.  His arms flailed wildly, unable to reach me.
        "This attack has a ten percent probability coefficient of succeeding." The guardian robot stated matter-of-factly.
        "I'm a betting man.  See if you like the taste of this."
        He was moving around violently, trying to shake me loose, but my fingers just dug deeper into his armor, my clawtips making contact with some cables.  I dropped one of my hands down to my hip, desperately trying to keep my hold on him with my other.  I pulled a curved dagger from its sheath, slipping it up, pulling it up and under a large black hose coming from his head down to his back, slicing it open.  A dark green gass spit from the severed tube, and the Autobot howled in pain, a disturbing gurgling sound.
        "You like that?  Huh?  What's that, you'd like some more?  Here's some more."
        I brought my arm around, then cut in a lateral arc across his neck, splitting it open.  Dark brown fluids spewed out in all directions, and he started firing blindly into the night sky.  I dropped the knife,
letting it skitter down the guardian robot's back, splashing into the tides below.  I started pounding my fists into his skull, loud cracks as my knuckles made heavy, repeated impacts with his armor.  The armor
cracked, spiderwebbed, then crumbled entirely, but I didn't stop.  My fists pounded into his neural net, splattering relays and cables.  I opened my hands, claws extended, and dug them into his neural core,
pushing down hard and twisting in opposite directions.  When my grip was firm and true, I wrenched my arms back, pulling his entire neural core out with my hands, wires and hoses snapping.  I ripped my hands from the massive tangle of wires and circuits, and his optics fell across my chest.  I pushed my feet against his back, flipping backwards as the heavy dead weight of the Autobot crashed before me, sending a huge column of blood in all directions.  I wiped the small bits of metal from my hands, and started off in the direction I had been ordered to follow.